Chapter 14 #2
“Vicky, if you speak again when I don’t want you to, you’ll regret it.”
I bite my tongue. Lie there while he has one hand on my neck, holding me to his bed, and the other strokes the curve of my ass, almost gently. My thoughts are racing, but not more than my heart. What comes next in this twisted game?
I don’t have to wait long to find out.
His finger hooks beneath my thong, and he tugs. It’s lace, the material not designed for his strength. It pulls against me then gives with a snap, and I swallow hard as he draws it away.
I’m naked. Vulnerable. Held.
“Alex, please, I—”
“You don’t listen, do you?” He sounds almost reasonable, like I’m the one being difficult.
His weight shifts, the grip on my neck tightening, then his other hand comes around. Into my face. Something soft bundled in his palm. He finds my mouth, pulls my jaw open, shoves it in. It’s lacy against my tongue. A musky taste.
My mind’s spiraling. I can’t work out what’s worse: that he’s pinning me naked, or that he’s just gagged me with my own thong. And if that isn’t bad enough, it’s my own arousal I can taste.
I’m turned on. That’s just… wrong. And I can’t even deny it, not when the proof is right there on my tongue.
If the humiliation of being stripped by him wasn’t bad enough, it’s nothing to the thought of being aroused by this. How wet am I? Please, let him not know. Let him not be able to see.
“If you spit that out, your punishment will be doubled.”
I freeze. He’s going to punish me, and I can’t stop him. The realization hits hard, and a whimper escapes. I can only hope my thong muffles it, but he goes still like he heard.
Then his hand returns to my ass.
His caresses feel different without my thong in the way. There wasn’t much material, but now there’s none. He smooths his palm down over one buttock, from top to bottom, then cups that cheek. It’s not unpleasant. He gives it a little squeeze, then his hand lifts away.
The smack lands a second later, hard enough to drive out my breath in a cry that’s only half-muffled by my thong.
The pain’s delayed, like my body can’t process it immediately, then it arrives in full and my fingers clench in his sheets.
My ass is on fire, burning, the pain pushing deeper into my flesh with each passing second.
And through it all, the realization that Alex has just spanked me, and he’s going to do it again.
His hand returns to my ass, but it’s a gentle stroke, like before. It smooths some of the sting away, pain replaced by a warmth that is strangely comforting.
No, that’s not right. I don’t like any of this.
“That’s one,” he remarks casually. “Shall we say ten?”
I barely get a chance to process that before his hand comes down again, smacking into my other cheek with his strength behind it.
It forces another cry from me, and some dissociative part of my mind wonders if this is the sole reason he goes to the gym so much—just so his spanks are effective.
He’s so goddamn strong. I’m helpless, and each blow hurts.
He rubs my cheek, and that contrast draws another sound from me. I whimper through my thong, and hate myself for it. The material’s soggy and wet in my mouth, and all I can do is pray it’s the only thing getting wet.
Don’t be aroused by this. Stay strong. Only eight more.
“Two,” he announces, like that’s a revelation.
The third one lands on the same spot he just hit, and I was expecting it on my other cheek. Not that it would make much difference, but it catches me by surprise. He did it deliberately, I know he did. It’s sadistic. It’s effective. I both hate and secretly admire him for that.
There’s no stroke this time. I was anticipating it, but it doesn’t come. The fourth spank lands instead, on my left buttock, the one that’s only had a single strike. Some part of me is pleased it’s now balanced.
I must be losing my mind.
He pauses to rub the sting away, and I can’t help the moan that escapes. It’s such a relief, it feels so goddamn good. How can it be that pain, taken away, is better than no pain at all?
Maybe it’s not Alex that’s perverted and twisted. Maybe it’s me.
The fifth hit lands on top of the fourth, and my body jerks. That spot’s getting damn sore.
“Five,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so well.”
I wish he wouldn’t talk. His words aren’t helping. I want it over with now, because I’m worried what will happen if he keeps going.
The sixth lands on the same cheek, the seventh on the other, but the eighth’s back on my left buttock.
That’s four in quick succession. Irritatingly unbalanced, and for some reason, that bugs me as much as the pain.
He’s doing it deliberately, I know he is.
The pain’s intense, deeper than before, and he hasn’t rubbed for a while.
Then he does, and I see stars. My eyes are already closed—I wasn’t conscious of doing that—but there’s bright lights behind my lids.
The moan that escapes is low and long, and so embarrassing. But I can’t help it.
Fuck… did I push my butt up against his hand? Tell me I didn’t. Please tell me I didn’t.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and trails a fingertip up between my cheeks.
My hips writhe at that touch, and I can’t control them.
He chuckles softly, adding to my humiliation.
“Two more.”
Yes, I know. Get it done, you sick bastard.
I’m grateful for the gag. I totally would’ve fucking said that out loud if my mouth wasn’t stuffed with lace. And then where would I be?
I count the ninth blow, grit my teeth, push my tongue up against the fabric of my thong, and wait for the tenth. At least I didn’t cry out that time. Small win for me.
The tenth spank lands, and he lets it sink in, radiating pain and heat through my ass. He’s not rubbing the sting away, but I still let out a breath. We’re done. At last, we’re done.
Except one cheek got six spanks, the other four. That’s so irritating.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.
The fuck am I supposed to do now? Speak, and have him claim a double punishment? Stay silent, and let him take it as an excuse to continue?
I give him a sharp squeak in the negative, shaking my head for good measure. That’s pretty damn clear, isn’t it?
“I’ll stop if you want,” he murmurs softly. “All you have to do is lift your ass up, in offering.”
No. No way in hell. I am not doing that.
I know exactly what he wants to see, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
I press my hips into the bed, forcing my legs together as tight as they’ll go.
He chuckles at me. “You’re so stubborn.”
The next two spanks come in fast succession, both on the same cheek. My butt’s clenched, and the effect is far worse. I cry out around the thong, the sound escaping just fine, filling the quiet of the room.
Eight and four. Asshole.
He doesn’t rub the sting away, but switches to the other side, landing two more blows. These aren’t even on my ass, but on the crease where thigh meets cheek. They hurt. This time, it’s not a cry that escapes, but a sob.
“Shall we try again?” he asks reasonably. His hand strokes over my belabored flesh. “Hold it up, and I’ll stop.”
I sniffle into the sheet, bite back another sob, and take a breath.
“Vicky…” he says warningly.
I was going to, damn it. I just needed a moment.
It’s not like there’s a choice anyway. If I don’t, he’ll only keep going.
Slowly, I lift my ass for him. My back arching, my knees coming up. Just a few inches; more than enough. The humiliation strikes at least as deeply as his strongest spank, but I’ve done what he wanted. I press my hips down again and make fists with my hands.
His fingertips play across my burning skin. “I said hold it up. That was more like ‘wave it at me.’ Try again.”
Bastard.
Absolute. Utter. Bastard.
It takes me a moment to gather my strength for the next attempt, to give him what he wants. And he lands another encouraging smack while I’m working on it.
Nine and six.
But I’m not wanting him to balance it, not really. My ass is on fire. It’s one big bruise from my thighs to the small of my back. At least, that’s what it feels like.
I lift my hips, my ass coming up. And I hold the position, whimpering in my humiliation and shame.
“There’s a good girl,” he says softly. “Keep still, now.”
I don’t know what he’s going to do. Look? Touch? Let me go?
His hand smacks into my buttock, hard enough to drive my upper body forward—and on the wrong damn side. That one, I felt through my spine. For a moment, I can’t even take a breath. My legs are trembling, my ass is burning, and I can’t hold my position.
“No,” he admonishes. “Keep it up.”
What a goddamn sadist.
I force myself to lift my ass up, holding it for him. Offering myself, the way he wanted me to, ready for the next spank.
How the hell long is he going to keep this up? Is he even going to balance it?
Why does that bug me so much?
“You look so beautiful like that,” he says, tone almost reverent.
In that moment, I’m conscious he hasn’t spoken in anger since we started this. He’s punishing me, not because he’s angry, but because he wants to. It’s not out of uncontrolled passion, it’s deliberate.
His touch returns, fingertips running lightly over my cheeks. Dipping in between, brushing along my crack. It’s sensitive, and I can’t help but squirm. A noise slips out past the thong, but I fight to keep my ass up, not giving him an excuse to punish me more.
His fingers find their way lower, between my legs. And why wouldn’t they? He’s making me present myself to him like this.
“Do you know how fucking wet you are?”
I didn’t, not really. Not until he touched me. Suspected, yes. But I didn’t know.
Now I do, because his fingers don’t rub through my folds, they glide.
And it feels so goddamn good.
He chuckles again. It’s only when I hear that mocking, masculine sound that I realize I whimpered. Or was it a moan? I don’t know, I’m past caring. His fingers flick across my opening, dip lower still, teasing me, then draw back up.
One slides inside me.
I can’t help it. I clench, my body tensing, his single digit stroking within. The moan that escapes is the deepest yet, and it’s totally out of my control.
He doesn’t say anything, he merely draws his finger back, then pushes in again.
Penetrating me. Rubbing me. His finger’s so deep, his knuckle finds my g-spot.
I writhe, my hips doing whatever the hell they want.
And the worst bit? It’s even easier to keep my ass raised, because I want him there. I want his finger inside me.
So of course, it slips away.
I whimper at its loss, long and high, the sound as involuntary as any of the rest of them. My ass twitches in the air, like it’s searching for that penetration again.
“You don’t think we’ve finished do you?” He asks, voice low. “Vicky, we’ve only just begun.”
His touch returns, fingertips dancing through my folds, rubbing my wetness around. My thighs are slick, my pussy aches for something to fill it, my bottom still hurts. And his hand on the back of my neck hasn’t let up once. He’s still keeping me pinned.
Then he finds my clit, and my hips jerk.
I can’t help it. I’m so aroused, so helpless, and he’s been tormenting me for so long.
A fingertip rubs across it, and I clench my eyes tight.
He already knows my body. He already knows what works, and he clearly hasn’t forgotten, despite it being so long.
A few light strokes from side to side. A flick or two up and down.
Then he circles it, the pressure not quite firm enough, his touch teasing.
I moan my need, ass lifting higher in silent plea for more. It’s not a choice, it’s a reaction.
A second fingertip joins the first, circling in sync, flicking around and around. My hips are doing whatever the hell they like, my thighs are weak, and I’m so turned on. The sounds I’m making are nonstop, and my hands claw at his sheets.
Then he takes my clit between finger and thumb, and pinches hard.
And I explode.
My orgasm rips through me, and I cry out. Body shuddering, muscles tensing, one leg quivering so hard I half-fall to the bed. His hand stays with me, fingers deftly rubbing and flicking, prolonging the ecstasy.
“There we are,” he says, the words barely a breath. “That’s my Vicky. That’s where you’ve been hiding, all this time. Now I know.”